


Unsupervised Minors

by ohthewhomanity



Series: And You'll Have A Place In It [11]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Character, Magical Creatures, Magical Theory, Murder Mystery, Questioning character, Trans Female Character, creepy crawlies, people die but like nobody we care about, scorpions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthewhomanity/pseuds/ohthewhomanity
Summary: Something in the background of the live feed caught Lena’s eyes. She smiled, reached into her pocket, and took out her phone. “I have a way in,” she said, pulling up a contact she very rarely used. “You just have to ask the right officer…”Cabrera knows better than to allow a bunch of teenagers to traipse all over her crime scene. But when the runaway she's been keeping a casual eye on for four years gives her a call, the detective decides to follow her hunch. Who knows? The kids might solve a mystery...Alternate Title: "What Happens When The Duck Teens Get Bored And A Magical Box Provides A Call To Adventure"
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Lena & Violet Sabrewing & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & OC, Lena (Disney: DuckTales) & Violet Sabrewing & Webby Vanderquack, Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Webby Vanderquack, M'ma Cabrera & Lena (Disney: DuckTales)
Series: And You'll Have A Place In It [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1128761
Comments: 46
Kudos: 98





	1. Prologue: Maternal Instinct

Detective Cabrera shouldn’t have even been on this shift. She wasn’t assigned to any major cases at the moment, at least nothing that required being out on the street past midnight. And she’d managed to talk her way out of every night shift the sergeants tried to give her after Fenton was born.

But Fenton was an adult, now. Though she still worried about him, especially since he didn’t have a real job – unpaid internships did _not_ count – he didn’t need her watching him at home at night. And Dogherty had said he’d owe her one if she covered for him tonight.

So here Cabrera was, sitting behind the wheel of the patrol car, starting to wonder after hours of silence if literally anything was going to happen.

She was patient, sure – Cabrera was an investigator and a mother, both tasks that required a calm but firm tenacity. But stakeouts and waiting out tantrums were both more purposeful tasks than this kind of just-in-case nighttime patrol, especially tonight. This had to be the quietest night Duckburg had ever known. She’d even driven past the Beagles’ junkyard, just in case. But even there, no one was stirring.

There was just her, the car, and a dark, empty street in an off-color part of town.

And then – movement. Her eyes snapped to a figure emerging from the shadows of an alleyway. The figure stepped around the edge of a streetlight, as though they didn’t want to be seen.

But Cabrera had excellent night vision, aided by already having been in the dark all evening.

Why was a child walking the city streets, alone, at three in the morning?

Cabrera waited until the child was about to pass by her car before turning on her headlights, opening the door and stepping out in one smooth, practiced motion.

“A bit late for a walk, isn’t it?” she said.

The child froze, shoulders tense, eyes darting around – the tell-tale body language of someone who thought she might need a quick exit.

Cabrera leaned casually against the car door, looking the kid over. She might have been a teenager, but definitely not yet old enough for a driver’s license. She wore a grey striped sweater that was about two sizes too big, and there was a single pink stripe in her short-cropped hair.

The girl took a step backwards. Her foot entered the circle of light from the streetlamp. She looked down at it – at the shadow of her ankle – and stepped forward again. Odd.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” said the girl.

“I’m not a stranger. I’m a detective.”

“Yeah, that’s worse.”

Cabrera crossed her arms. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“From where?”

“Sleepover at a friend’s house.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping over, then?”

“Clearly it’s been a long time since you had a sleepover, Detective. You’re not actually supposed to sleep through them.”

Cabrera had too good of a poker face to laugh. The girl had spunk, that’s for sure.

“Your friends’ parents didn’t drive you home?”

“It’s not that far. I usually walk.”

“Through this part of town?”

The girl put her hands in the pockets of her shorts. “That’s kind of judgmental, don’t you think? I mean, people live here. It’s a good part of town in somebody’s eyes.”

“Do _you_ live here?”

Silence.

Cabrera opened the back door of the patrol car. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’d rather walk, thanks.”

“I’m not asking.”

Again, the girl tensed, one foot pointing back towards the alleyway. She was trying to decide whether to run for it. Cabrera hoped she would decide otherwise; it really wasn’t worth it.

“You’re not under arrest, _patita,_ ” she said. “It’s way past curfew. My job is to make sure you get home safe.”

The girl looked over her shoulder. She mumbled something, much too quiet for Cabrera to hear.

“Fine,” the girl finally said more loudly. She walked forward and got into the car. Cabrera closed the door and locked it before getting in herself.

“Seatbelt on,” she said.

“Safety first,” the girl muttered sarcastically, but she complied.

Cabrera began to drive down the street, heading in the direction the girl had been walking.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Lena.”

“Your full name.”

“Lena.”

Cabrera adjusted the rearview mirror. Lena wasn’t looking at her.

“And your address?”

“123 Nunya Business Street.”

Cabrera unclipped her handheld radio from her belt.

“Base to Cabrera.”

“ _Go ahead_ ,” came the voice of the other poor soul stuck working so late.

“I just picked up an unsupervised minor.” Cabrera glanced at the rearview mirror. “ _Se llama Lena – es posible un seudónimo. Tiene quince a_ _ños, más o menos. Ella no me dijo un dirección o apellido. Probablemente huyó de casa._ ”

“I’m not a runaway,” Lena said suddenly. “I told you, I’m going home from a sleepover. And my name _is_ Lena.”

“You speak Spanish?” Cabrera said, replacing the radio.

“I understand more than I can speak,” said Lena. Her lips curled into the slightest hint of a smile. “I’m good with languages. I hitchhiked across Spain, for a bit, and I picked it up.”

“Hitchhiking through Spain? At such a young age. That doesn’t exactly support your claim that you are not a runaway.”

Lena’s smile vanished, and she slouched down in her seat again. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a weird life.”

Cabrera stopped at a red light, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “ _Patita,_ if you don’t give me an address, I can’t help you get home.”

“Good. You can’t imagine how much trouble I’d be in if I rolled up in a police car.”

Cabrera’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sure your guardians would be pleased to know someone was looking out for you, after your sleepover.”

“Not my aunt,” said Lena. “Trust me, she doesn’t – she wouldn’t like that at all.”

The detective looked back at the teenager again. Lena’s eyes were on her feet.

Cabrera knew perfectly well how a certain percentage of Duckburg’s population did not get along with the police. They weren’t all outright criminals, like the Beagles or McStabbersons. Some had had a bad experience with bigoted officers, leading to an understandable lasting suspicion. Others just didn’t like authority figures – they were too used to exerting their own authority on whoever they had power over.

The detective suspected that Lena’s aunt belonged to this last category. The kind of people who did nothing explicitly illegal, per se, nothing so overt that you could prosecute… but in her opinion didn’t belong anywhere near a child.

“Give me a street corner, then,” she said. “Somewhere close enough. Your aunt doesn’t have to know.”

Lena laughed quietly, her eyes still on her feet.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, naming an intersection. It wasn’t all that far away. Cabrera supposed it was not an unreasonable length for a child to walk unsupervised, in daylight at least. Then again, she didn’t know how long the kid had been walking when she’d picked her up. But there were only so many residential streets left back there, before you got to Killmotor Hill.

Cabrera pulled over at the street corner. There were any number of apartment buildings within walking distance that could have been Lena’s home. The closest thing to them was the path down to that old amphitheater on the beachside, the one the city council had yet to decide whether to put any budget towards fixing it up or demolishing it.

Lena unbuckled her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, it’s been fun, let’s not do it again soon.” She tried to open the door, but it was still locked.

“Not yet.” Cabrera held out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

Lena just stared at her.

“I’m not going to go digging through it _._ I’m just going to put in my number.”

“Why?”

“So you can call me when you get home safely. Or if you ever need anything.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Well maybe someday you will.”

Lena frowned, but she handed over the cell phone. Cabrera kept her word and did not dig, but she couldn’t help but notice that there was only one saved contact in the phone: someone called “Pink.”

In case this aunt of hers did go digging through her niece’s phone, the detective simply put her name in as “C.”

“There.” Cabrera handed the phone back to Lena, unlocking the car. “Stay out of trouble.”

Lena opened the door. “You don’t have to worry about me, Detective. I’m a model citizen.”

“I’m sure you are.”

As Lena walked away from the car, Cabrera watched until she was gone around the corner of a building. And then she waited there a while longer, just in case.

But she didn’t see Lena again, and eventually she had to move on with her patrol.

* * *

About two weeks after that night shift, Cabrera’s cell phone rang from an unknown number.

“Hello?” she said. When no one said anything, she added, “ _S_ _í,_ who is this?”

Silence. Cabrera thought she heard water sloshing faintly in the distance.

“Are you in trouble?” Cabrera asked. “I’m a police officer. Do you need help?”

There was a strangled sound, like someone was trying to speak through a mouth full of peanut butter or something equally sticky.

Then they hung up.

On a hunch, Cabrera saved the number, giving it a question mark for a name.

* * *

That night, everyone’s shadows came to life, forming a massive vortex in the sky.

When the roof of the Money Bin blasted away – because of course the McDucks had something to do with all this – Cabrera hurried to the scene. So she was there for the press conference, there to see Scrooge McDuck assure the citizens of Duckburg that he and his family had saved the day, there to see Beakley put her hand on the shoulder of a teenager with pink hair and a grey striped sweater and guide her away from the cameras.

She didn’t have a chance to talk to the girl. But at least now Cabrera knew she’d gotten home safely.

* * *

The question mark number called her again two years later.

“Look, you can stop having your son check on me,” said the snarky teenage voice on the other end of the line. “I’m fine.”

“So it _is_ you,” said Cabrera. “Good to know you kept my number, _patita._ ”

“I honestly have no idea why I did.”

Cabrera considered asking about the phone call on the morning of the Shadow War. She decided against it.

“How is life in McDuck Manor?” she said again.

“It’s good. It’s crazy, you know, but good.”

“I imagine so.”

“I have a job,” said Lena. “I mean, you know this, since you’ve got your son poking at me at the office. Uncle Scrooge gave me a – well, since you’re a cop, it’s not really a job, it’s an after-school internship.”

“Naturally.”

“It’s filing paperwork and making copies and such. Good resume-building stuff. Like I said, I’m a model citizen.”

“I have no doubt.” Cabrera leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her desk. “Still. My offer stands. If you ever need anything, call.”

“Right. Uh… thanks. I guess.”

It was the voice of someone who still, after all this time, was not used to having reason to express gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” Cabrera said.

She changed the contact in her phone to _Lena,_ and it didn’t ring again from that number for another two years.


	2. Breaking News

Not every day at McDuck Manor was an adventure. Some days – Louie’s favorite – were lazy.

On this day, right at the start of summer, six teenagers had taken up all the available couch and armchair seating in the TV room. Of course, even though they’d all had growth spurts since the triplets first moved in with their great-uncle, they didn’t necessarily need to be piled on top of each other to have a spot to sit. Webby and Violet just liked using Lena as a pillow, and Lena was all too willing to oblige both her girlfriend and her honorary sister.

The boys were arguing over the remote.

“Pass it here, Huey, let me try.”

“You had your turn already, it’s mine!”

“Is the news all that’s on?” Louie complained. “That’s not the kind of brain-drain I’m looking for. Where’s the reality TV? The mindless reruns?”

“You could try reading a book,” said Violet. “They don’t run on network schedules.”

Louie shook his head emphatically. “I refuse to shift the nerd-to-not-nerd ratio in this household any further!”

Lena’s cell phone buzzed, and she wiggled her arms around Webby and Violet until she managed to pull it out and look at the text.

“Kass is home,” she said. “School’s out for the semester. Should I have her join us for… whatever we’re doing today?”

“I don’t think we’re doing anything today,” said Violet.

“I like this not doing anything,” said Webby, snuggling even more closely onto Lena’s stomach.

“You’ll get bored, Pink,” Lena said.

“Maybe after a day. Today, cuddles.”

Louie stuck out his tongue. “Get a room.”

“We have two,” said Lena. “Which would you prefer?”

“Whichever means I don’t have to see any of that,” Louie said, waving a hand vaguely at the pile-up on the couch.

“I assure you, this is a completely platonic cuddle pile,” said Violet. “Now, if you would like the two of them to demonstrate more overtly romantic behavior –”

“No!” the three boys said at once.

Lena stood up, abruptly shoving Webby and Violet aside with her sudden departure from the couch. Webby grabbed onto the arm of the couch for balance, barely avoiding bumping heads with Violet.

“Hey! Lena?”

“Down in front,” Dewey complained as Lena walked through his view of the television. But she didn’t reply, taking quick steps over to where Webby’s backpack was on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf.

Webby and Violet poked their heads over the back of the couch. Lena upended the backpack, dumping its contents onto the floor. Several colorful pens rolled across the carpet.

“Careful with the case files!” Webby climbed over the back of the couch to rescue her diary from its splayed-open face-down position on the floor. “It’s bad for the spine.”

“I concur, that is no way to treat a book,” Violet said, though her eyes were on Lena.

“You know, if you want something in there, you can just ask,” Webby added.

But Lena had found what she was looking for: a small, hinged box made of petrified wood. She flipped it open, her fingers quickly rearranging the dice-like cubes inside.

Webby looked back at Violet. Violet’s forehead was crinkled into the slightest frown.

“Lena?” Webby said again.

Nothing. Lena didn’t even look at her. Her neck was bent over the box as she flipped and swapped the dice, her eyes hidden by the dyed lock of her hair.

The boys’ attention had been drawn as well by that point. In the four years they’d known Lena, she’d never gone so long without delivering a snarky retort.

“Is she okay?” said Huey.

Webby lifted a hand, but she hesitated. Lena hated being touched without warning. But the strangeness of the moment outweighed her reservations, and so Webby put her hand on Lena’s forehead, tilting her face upwards.

There was no resistance. Lena’s face stared blankly at Webby. Her pupils were gone, replaced by the pale pink glow her eyes took on when she was deep in use of her inborn magic. Most eerily, her fingers kept at work with the ancient Boggle box, though she was no longer looking at her hands.

“Oh boy,” Louie exhaled.

Violet dropped down from the couch. “Step aside, Webbigail,” she said.

Webby obeyed. Lena’s head stayed where she left it, looking at nothing.

Violet took a pair of glasses out of her pocket, saying a word that had too many consonants for its own good as she put them on. The glass shimmered, giving the illusion that Violet’s black eyes had turned bright purple.

“It’s a cycle of energy,” she said, looking at Lena’s hands. “The box seems to be drawing on Lena’s power, but it’s giving it back again – not draining, just using.”

“But what for?” said Webby.

“I don’t know.”

“Wait, do those glasses let you _see magic?_ ” Huey demanded, coming over to look.

“In a manner of speaking.” Violet adjusted the glasses on her beak. “These lenses are attuned to the flow of magical auras. But I do not yet understand all that they allow me to see…”

Lena’s fingers clicked one more die into place and then closed the box decisively. She shivered, blinking rapidly, the glow fading from her eyes.

“Huh? What?” She swayed a little on her feet. Webby grabbed Lena’s arms to steady her, and Violet stepped forward to put her hands over Lena’s to keep her from dropping the box.

“Isn’t that the creepy question box?” Dewey asked. “With the secret witch language?”

“That’s still not a thing…” Lena looked down at the box. “Why am I…?”

“Just breathe,” Webby said, rubbing Lena’s arms. “You’re back now.”

“Was I gone?”

“You appeared to be in a kind of trance, instigated by the dice box you’ve nicknamed ‘Boggle,’” Violet said, taking off the glasses. If her eyes remained purple for a moment after the lenses were gone, no one commented on it.

Lena’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned.

“Hey, not cool, Boggle!” she said to the box. “Just ask me and I’ll look, okay? You scared them.”

“It talks to you?” Huey asked.

“It doesn’t talk,” Lena said, rapping her knuckles on the box’s lid. “But it has a heck of an attitude.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t alive,” said Webby.

“It isn’t,” said Lena. “Well, it isn’t a living thing. It’s magic. That’s another step down the line away from being people.”

“Say what now?” Dewey came over to join the group looking at the box.

“Look, I don’t really understand it, and I don’t love talking about it,” Lena said. “Magic things, they just… Magic is energy, right? I mean everything is energy, or matter, one or the other, that’s how physics works. But magic is its own kind of energy. And life as we know it, that’s a kind of energy, too; the nastier kinds of magic feed off of it – shut up, Violet.”

“I said nothing.”

“But you were thinking it, sis, and I am _not_ going to teach you anything about that kind of magic. The point is, magic is energy, and life is energy, so when something has magic, it sort of… has life. In an indirect way. It’s not alive like we are, but it’s… there.” Lena’s thumbs rubbed against the edges of the box. “I dunno, my aunt never really taught me any of this. It’s just a feeling.”

“My research corroborates that feeling,” said Violet. “There are times when it seems the amulet desires to speak with me, if we only spoke the same language.”

“Yeah, and that thing’s a liar, so don’t listen to what it tells you.”

“What did Boggle tell you, just now?” Webby asked. “What did it spell out?”

“I don’t remember.” Lena hesitated before reopening the box. She’d successfully decoded Boggle’s mysterious script a few times now, and the resulting word always brought up more questions than it did answers. But it usually took at least a week to finish one of Boggle’s puzzles. The box had never grabbed her like this before, never wanted to be solved _now, right now…_

She opened the box. The others looked over her shoulder, but they only saw meaningless scribbles.

“It says ‘scorpion,’” said Lena.

“Scorpion?” Huey echoed.

“Scorpion…” Webby tapped her foot thoughtfully.

“Uh, guys?”

Louie was the only one still sitting in front of the TV. He pointed at the screen. “Look.”

The others came over to join him. On screen, the news camera was panning slowly over a store shelf. The shelf was covered in small cages and tanks, their contents clearly labeled: _Gecko. Tarantula. Scorpion._

Huey grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

“…were called early this morning by a concerned citizen who noticed a broken window,” Roxanne Featherly narrated as the video obligingly cut to footage of the smashed storefront. Above the window was a sign with large green letters: _Elmer’s Exotic Pets_

“I know that place,” said Dewey. “I used to beg Uncle Donald to let me get an iguana. Or at least _something_ with scales and/or fangs.”

The others shushed him.

“…Mr. Emueller was declared dead at the scene,” Featherly continued, “though details have not yet been released about the time or cause of death. Elmer Emueller was the owner of Duckburg’s primary distributor of unusual pets for almost ten years. Despite this impressive tenure, Elmer’s Exotic Pets has remained a small establishment, with only one other employee currently on the payroll. Animal rights protestors calling for its closure have been a common sight on this street since the day Mr. Emueller first opened his store.”

“Looks like one of those protesters took justice into their own hands,” said Dewey.

“Or maybe he just got stabbed by a scorpion,” Louie suggested, nodding at the Boggle box.

Webby shook her head. “Scorpions don’t kill you _that_ easily. And surely a guy like Elmer would have any antivenom he needed on hand. He’s been working with these pets for ten years.”

“So you’re saying we have a murder mystery on our hands.” A grin was slowly spreading across Huey’s face.

Dewey rolled his eyes. “Here we go.” But he couldn’t help but grin as well, and neither could Webby. The day had suddenly become a lot less lazy.

Violet raised an eyebrow at the enthusiastic adventurers around her. “As thrilling as solving a mystery here in Duckburg might seem, it is doubtful the police will welcome the intervention of teenagers. This is not a Hanna Badgerera cartoon.”

“Hey – we are _much_ better at solving mysteries than the Scooby gang,” said Dewey.

“You’re still meddling kids.”

“Sure,” said Louie, “but we’re _McDuck_ meddling kids.”

“And for some law enforcement officers, that’s all the more reason to keep you away.”

“We could say we’re working on our forensic science badge,” Huey suggested.

“ _You_ can say that, perhaps. I already have mine.”

Huey’s jaw dropped. “I am never going to catch up with you, am I?”

“It’s rather unlikely.”

Something in the background of the live feed caught Lena’s eyes. She smiled, reached into her pocket, and took out her phone.

“I have a way in,” she said, pulling up a contact she very rarely used. “You just have to ask the right officer…”

On the television screen, a woman was standing in front of the store, looking closely at the broken window. She took her cell phone out of her pocket, glanced at its screen, and put it to her ear.

“I’m a bit busy, _patita,_ ” said the voice in Lena’s ear.

“I know,” Lena replied. “The murder at the pet store.”

She looked at the box in her hands, and then at the TV screen again. “I think I’ve got a lead.”


	3. Scene of the Crime

“Dogherty, tell the news to pack it up. Freedom of the press is one thing, but so is keeping the peace, and this is a crime scene.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Cabrera put a hand up to shade her eyes as her fellow officer approached Featherly and her film crew. So far, they’d managed to avoid overly sensationalizing the incident. Cabrera was good at shutting down questions about the failure of local vigilantes to stop bad things from happening – talking to the press was a lot like countering the endless “but _whyyyy_ ”s of a toddler – but even she had her limits.

The last thing she needed was those cameras running when the kids showed up. Featherly didn’t need any more fuel to add to her “meddling McDucks” attack pieces.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d said yes. Cabrera knew better than to let a bunch of teens traipse all over her crime scene. Perhaps it was her surprise that Lena had reached out to her, or the general strangeness surrounding Elmer Emueller’s death – the denizens of McDuck Manor went hand in hand with strangeness.

But no – it was the conviction in Lena’s voice when she’d said she had a lead. That’s what had set off Cabrera’s hunch. A good detective knew to follow her hunches. Cabrera was a very good detective.

Good enough that when the teens arrived, she only had to nod at the officer on duty to get him to let them past the yellow tape across the sidewalk.

“Hey, Detective,” said Lena. She stood at the head of the group of six. “Long time no see.”

For how little she and Lena had spoken, Cabrera still knew her best of any of them. Her path had crossed with the entire group, now and again. The three Duck boys and Webbigail Vanderquack she recognized from their tendency over the last four years to always be there when something Scrooge McDuck-related happened. Huey, the red one, often followed Gizmoduck around. And she had met Violet Sabrewing during the Moonlander invasion. Cabrera hadn’t had anything good to say, then, about McDuck choosing to put a child on the front lines of the conflict. But then Violet had reappeared with a glowing purple morningstar and an undeniable ability to hold her own.

“I hope I don’t need to tell you to behave yourselves,” Cabrera said. “And I reserve the right to send you all home.”

“Relax, Detective, these guys are professionals.” Lena waved a hand at her friends. “They solve mysteries across the globe on the daily.”

“I know. Then this should prove an interesting puzzle for them.” Cabrera stepped aside, pointing them towards the storefront. “Avoid touching things, but ask any questions you have. We’ve been here all morning.”

As the other kids fanned out to investigate, Cabrera turned to Lena. “Tell me about this lead,” she said.

“It’s just gonna sound weird,” said Lena.

Cabrera raised an eyebrow. “Very little sounds weird to me anymore. You have to tell me something, _patita,_ I can’t have a bunch of kids here for no reason.”

“We’re all teenagers, now, thank you very much.” Lena looked up at the _Elmer’s Exotic Pets_ sign over the door. “All I know is that I’m supposed to be here asking questions, and it’ll lead to something. Something to do with a scorpion.”

Her eyes darted back towards Cabrera, in time to notice the detective’s frown.

“How did Elmer Emueller die?” Lena asked.

“Let’s see what clues you and your friends pick up on out here,” said Cabrera. “Maybe they’ll find something I haven’t yet. Then we’ll talk about Elmer.”

Huey and Violet carefully stepped forward to examine the broken window, avoiding stepping on the shards of glass littered across the sidewalk.

“According to the news, someone called the police because of a broken window,” said Huey.

Cabrera nodded. “A neighbor in the apartment building just across the street. She called to report a break-in. But…”

“…but if someone broke the window to get _in…_ ” Huey said, looking at his feet.

“…then why is the ground _outside_ of the window covered in broken glass?” Violet finished his thought.

“This wasn’t a break-in,” said Webby. “This was a break- _out._ But if they were already inside, then why didn’t they use the door?”

“They couldn’t.” Louie was standing on his tiptoes, poking at a small metal box over the door. “That’s a Sparrownel Ultra-Deep 9000. The best security system money can buy. Once you activate that, nobody’s getting in or out.”

He turned, looking around at the other kids’ stares. “What? I have a future fortune to protect. I can do research sometimes.”

“Louie is right,” Cabrera took a small remote out of her pocket and pushed a button. The doors began to slowly slide open, revealing that what appeared to be simple wood was something much heavier.

“Our first responder couldn’t safely enter the building. The security system is coded to fingerprints and eye scanners, and only two people had access – Elmer himself, and his sole employee, Jon Swanson. It took our best hacker the better part of the night to get us access. By then, Elmer was long dead.”

“What’s a pet store need with that kind of heavy-duty security?” said Dewey. “How often do people try to rob a place like this?”

“Maybe it isn’t about who wants to get in,” said Louie. “Like Webby said, this was a break-out.”

“An iguana didn’t make that hole,” Lena said, looking at the window. “That’s a person. Or at least a very big, very determined cat.”

“The only mammal in there is a mongoose,” said Cabrera. “Elmer sold reptiles, amphibians, arthropods… The largest thing in stock was a boa constrictor, and those don’t smash windows.”

“So whoever it was that broke out, Elmer had to let them in, and then lock them in,” said Huey.

“And this was the middle of the night?” Violet pointed at a sign next to the door, displaying store hours. “This establishment closes at five p.m.”

“A secret midnight meeting!” said Webby. “To discuss… what?”

The door finally stopped, open. The group stepped inside.

“Elmer’s body has been taken in for further examination,” Cabrera explained. “Everything else is as it was when we arrived. When we got the door open, he was slumped against the counter, here.”

A few pieces of white tape marked out the general shape of Elmer Emueller’s body, fallen against the store counter, just beneath the register. Scattered around the markings, on both the counter and the floor, were several yellow-brown scorpions, each no more than three inches long, all dead on their backs.

“Creepy,” Louie muttered.

“What’s going to happen to the animals, now that Elmer’s gone?” said Dewey. He walked over to a nearby shelf, prying up the lid on a dark little cage to peer inside.

“Don’t touch anything,” Cabrera said. Dewey dropped the lid again obligingly.

Webby was looking at the display cases, too. “Here’s where the scorpions came from,” she said, pointing at an upended terrarium. “Someone must have knocked it over.”

“And here are the controls for the security system,” Violet said, inspecting a panel behind the register. “Locking the door may have been Elmer’s last act before he died.”

“Have you checked the security cameras?” said Huey.

“There are no security cameras,” said Cabrera.

Louie frowned. “The guy had the highest possible security on his doors, but no cameras?”

“That sounds like someone who plans on having secret midnight meetings,” Lena mused. “The kind of meetings you wouldn’t want on film. Is it time to talk about how he died, yet?”

“Dr. Silverbird pegged the time of death between three and four in the morning – well before anyone noticed the broken window,” said Cabrera. “He had on a short-sleeved shirt. And right here –” she tapped her own left forearm, directly over a vein “– a deep puncture wound in the skin.”

Everyone’s eyes returned to the many dead scorpions.

“So. The scene is set.” Dewey stepped forward to stand in front of the counter. “Elmer and his killer meet here late at night, to discuss… something shady, whatever dark deeds exotic pet dealers get up to. But the conversation turns ugly. Maybe the killer wants out of the deal. Maybe _Elmer_ wants out of the deal.”

“What deal?” said Huey.

“I dunno, still working on that part. Anyway, they argue, and the killer reaches for the shelf and grabs a bunch of scorpions, knocking the rest to the floor,” Dewey pantomimed the action. “He throws one at Elmer and it stabs him. Elmer knows he’s toast, so he locks the doors, trying to trap the killer in here. But the killer jumps through the window –” Dewey leapt towards the window, fortunately stopping before he ran into any broken glass “– and disappears into the night!”

Cabrera sighed. “That’s as far as my team got, too. But it can’t be right.”

Dewey frowned. “Why not?”

“It was a good performance, regardless,” Webby assured him.

Huey looked down at the scorpions again. He reached up to his hat, taking out the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and flipping through it.

“Yes,” Violet said to him, “I had the same thought, but please do double-check.”

“Double-check what?” said Louie.

Huey held the book open towards him.

“The color, the size, the distinct brown markings on the back,” he said. “These are striped bark scorpions. They’re not venomous. They couldn’t have killed Elmer.”

“Maybe Elmer was allergic,” Webby suggested.

Lena started walking away from the counter, down the row of display cases. It wasn’t really that big of a store – just the counter near the front wall, two walls with shelving full of small critters, and a back wall with informational posters about lizards and spiders.

“The body had no signs of allergic reaction,” said Cabrera. “He was just dead, with nothing besides the puncture wound to show for it. Elmer was injected with something, undoubtedly. When the toxicology report comes back, we’ll know what. But whatever it was is no longer here.”

“Sooo did someone want to make it _look_ like he was killed by a scorpion, or are we reading too much into this?” said Dewey.

Cabrera held up her hands. “Read as much as you want! At this point, I’m open to any suggestions.”

Lena stopped in front of one of the lizard posters. She looked back at the entrance, her eyes tracing along the floor until they got back to her feet again.

“Does this place feel small to you?” she said.

The others looked at her. “It’s a small business,” said Louie. “Small building.”

“Yeah.” Lena put her hands on the wall. “But not _this_ small. Not on the outside. It should go a bit further in than this.”

Dewey and Huey ran outside to check. The others came closer to Lena.

“If you’re thinking there might be a secret back room of some kind, we’ve checked every inch of this place for hidden doors,” said Cabrera.

“I bet you have.” Lena tapped her fingers against the wall. “In the ways _you_ can check. Vi?”

Violet put her glasses back on. She inhaled sharply.

“This wall is – not a wall,” she said. “It’s teeming with magical energy. I’m surprised we couldn’t hear it buzzing. That _you_ couldn’t, at least.”

“Magic can be hidden, even from witches, if you set it up right,” Lena said. “Elmer really didn’t spare any expense on security. Webs, give me a hand?”

Webby knew which hand she meant. She stepped forward, putting her right hand around Lena’s left – the hands that wore their friendship bracelets.

As Lena focused, a pale blue light spread across both of their bodies, and then across the wall. Then came the buzzing sound Violet had expected, along with a vibration which rattled the shelves all across the store.

There was a sudden scuttling behind them, and then a _clang_ as a loosened cage lid fell aside. They turned around to see something small and furry dart down from the shelf and scamper out the door, dodging Huey and Dewey’s legs in the doorway as it made its escape.

“There goes the mongoose,” said Huey.

“Aw,” said Dewey, “I was gonna call it Dewey Double-Junior.”

Then the wall and posters vanished, and the rest of the store was visible at last.

It wasn’t so much a secret room as it was the rest of the store’s one room, extending the space by several feet. There was another set of shelves along the real back wall of the store, covered in tools – among them several heavy-duty gloves, two pairs of thick goggles, and a very large set of tongs. Under the shelves stood one large cage, big enough that one of the triplets could have crawled inside. There was also a little desk with a computer, already turned on.

“What, did his business have a magical creatures wing or something?” said Louie.

“If anything, that just makes this place even more awesome,” said Dewey.

Webby went to the computer.

“It’s a catalogue,” she said. “Look at all the files – these are all about magical animals!”

Louie blinked. “Huh. I didn’t actually expect to be right about that.”

Cabrera leaned over Webby’s shoulder to look. “Elmer was dealing in a wider range of exotic animals than advertised, then?”

“Looks like it.” Webby scrolled down a long list of text. “It’s weird, though. They’re all creatures I’ve heard of, but the details are wrong. See, here – albino grim? What’s the point of an albino grim? Being a big black death omen is its whole thing.”

Violet stepped forward to look as well. “They must be breeding the creatures for particular traits, similar to how reptile breeders create color morphs in snakes. See here – pygmy manticore. Presumably it is of a size more appropriate for keeping in a house than the typical beast.”

“A housecat-sized manticore, huh?” Lena nudged Webby’s shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect pet for you, Pink.”

“Right. Yep. ‘Cause I like deadly things. And would totally be cool with having a manticore in the mansion.” Webby scrolled further down the list, keeping her eyes planted on the screen. “Yeah, that sure sounds like me! Let’s keep looking.”

“Manticores – assuming that they’re real,” Huey hedged; Lena rolled her eyes. “They have scorpion tails, right? Maybe that’s what Boggle meant.”

“Or maybe it’s literally any other creature!” Webby said with forced cheerfulness. “There are plenty of venomous things in this catalogue. Serqets, lavellans, zhenniaos…”

“I swear at this point you’re just making up words,” said Huey.

“Zhenniao,” said Violet. “It’s a Chinese bird with poisonous feathers, native to Lutemute Mountain, long thought to be extinct.”

Dewey grinned. “I know where we’re going next!”

Louie shoved him. “You are _not_ telling Uncle Scrooge about a _poison bird adventure._ ”

“Seriously, though, these are dangerous creatures,” Lena said. “Was Elmer selling them here? Aren’t there laws against transporting deadly animals? Let alone magic ones?”

“There are,” said Cabrera. “Especially across state lines. We already knew Elmer operated in a grey area of these laws – declawing and removing venom glands to reclassify his sales as ‘non-dangerous’ – but secretly shipping creatures like this into Duckburg is beyond the pale.”

“Where did he keep them, though?” said Huey. “There’s just the one cage.”

“Perhaps Elmer didn’t keep these magical creatures in stock,” said Cabrera. “He may have been the fence who placed orders for whoever might want them.”

“Explaining the secret midnight meetings,” said Webby. “The pet store was a front!”

“And also explaining why he kept his business so small,” said Cabrera. “It’s easier to keep a secret when you only have one employee to share it with. I wonder what Jon Swanson knows about all this.”

“He might know who Elmer met last night,” said Dewey. “And why they’d want to kill him!”

“Mind if we tag along to ask him?” said Lena.


	4. Witness

Officially, Cabrera _did_ mind if the teens tagged along. Unofficially, she knew perfectly well that if there were any more magically hidden rooms on this investigation, she was better off with _los aventureritos_ at her side than not.

And so, the group arrived at an apartment building a few blocks away from Elmer’s Exotic Pets.

“Jon Swanson lives on the third floor,” Cabrera said, double-checking the address she’d jotted down again. “Apartment 304-A.”

She turned to face the six behind her. “Stay close, and stay sharp. But remember, we’re here to ask questions, not accuse anyone of anything. Yet.”

A motorcycle pulled up to the curb, its driver setting a foot down on the sidewalk. As they all turned to look, she took off her helmet, setting it on the handlebars and flashing a grin at the kids.

“Did I miss the party?” she asked, casually pushing green-and-blue feathers out of her face.

Webby darted forward, leaping up to give the much taller girl a hug. “Kass!” she squealed. “Welcome home!”

“And this is?” Cabrera said to Lena, her hands on her hips.

“A friend. Kassidy Peacock. We were gonna hang out today anyway, figured I’d text her Swanson’s address.” Lena looked back at Cabrera. “Is that alright, Detective?”

After a moment, Cabrera shrugged. “We left regulations behind several decisions ago.”

Violet had joined Webby in greeting Kass, who had shifted Webby up to her shoulders as she got off the motorcycle.

“You grew again,” Violet observed.

“Don’t tell Dad,” said Kass. “He hates that he’s the smallest in the family now.”

Lena held out a hand for a fist bump. “Good to have you back, KP.”

Kass bumped it. “Thanks for asking me along.”

“Aww, it’s Kass’s first mystery-solving adventure!” Webby cooed.

“Come on,” Cabrera said. “Let’s see if Swanson is home.”

She led the way into the apartment building, Webby hopping down to ground level again to get through the door.

As they waited for the elevator, Kass looked back at the boys. “Haven’t had much of a chance to get to know these three yet. Let’s see, you’re Dewbert, Louford, and Huellyn, right?”

Lena and Webby snorted. Even Violet cracked a grin. Louie cringed.

“Oh, that’s worse,” he muttered. “How is that so much worse…?”

One brief elevator ride later, they all stood in front of the door to apartment 304-A. Cabrera knocked on it. They waited a few moments quietly.

Cabrera knocked again. Webby put her ear to the wall.

“Someone’s home,” she said. “I can hear them moving around.”

“Mr. Swanson?” Cabrera raised her voice. “I have some questions about Elmer Emueller.”

There was no answer.

Then something smashed on the other side of the wall – something large and made of glass colliding with the floor. The kids jumped, looking at each other. There were several more loud thuds in quick succession.

Cabrera reached into her coat. “Step back,” she ordered.

“Oh _heck_ yes,” Webby whispered, ducking out of the way as Cabrera kicked in the door. The detective barely broke stride as she stepped into the apartment, pulling out a small gun.

“DPD!” she barked. “Hands in the air!”

Kass was the only one who didn’t try to get in behind the detective. Webby made it through first.

This was a living room, or at least it used to be. A couch was on its side, cushions ripped apart. There was an upside-down coffee table, and a large cabinet with glass doors flat on its front – the source of the first loud crash.

In the middle of the floor, a tall, white-feathered man with a long neck lay limply on a crumpled carpet, blood dripping from a small hole in his arm.

Cabrera rushed to the man’s side, but Webby barely looked at him. There was more crashing coming from the next room – metal on tile. Webby flipped over the couch and darted through the open door. It was a small kitchen, all the drawers and cupboards open, silverware scattered and plates smashed all across the floor.

And over the sink, an open window, and a person crawling out of it.

“Stop right there!” Webby shouted.

But he didn’t stop, naturally, and so Webby jumped out the window after him, equally naturally.

Her feet landed on a fire escape. She could see the runner beneath her – gray hoodie pulled up over their head, boots clanging against the metal rungs as they stumbled down the rusted stairs.

Webby rushed down after them. At the last story, she leaped over the edge, rolling to break her fall on in the alleyway pavement. As she stood again, she saw Gray Hoodie ducking around the corner of a building.

She pursued, entering another alley, this one lined with trash cans and recycle bins. Gray Hoodie swung out their arms at the cans, knocking several of them into Webby’s way. Webby hopped over them handily, though avoiding these obstacles slowed her pace a bit.

Ahead of her, Gray Hoodie ran straight into a dumpster with a _clang_. Webby winced, but then blinked in surprise – the collision didn’t seem to have slowed them down at all, though they were running a bit stiffly.

Gray Hoodie reached the end of the alley and turned, their head lolling a bit as they rounded the corner. Webby picked up her pace, reaching the corner –

– and she immediately had to duck to avoid being elbowed in the face. She had come out into a crowd of people, mostly wearing suits. She flattened herself against the wall, eyes darting through the crowd as they opened and closed doors, jostled each other, and stepped into and out of the way of food carts.

Webby checked her watch and sighed. Here she was, in the middle of Duckburg’s financial district, during the lunch rush. Talk about bad timing! She jogged over to the nearest parked car and climbed on top of it for a better look, but it was no use. Grey Hoodie was lost in the crowd.

A motor revved nearby. Webby looked down to see Kass pulling up to the curb.

She lifted her visor. “What, did you lose him?”

“Yeah,” Webby admitted.

“Should we keep looking?”

Webby glanced around again, then shook her head. “He could be anywhere.”

“Hop on,” Kass patted the seat behind her. “Let’s get back to the others.”

* * *

“You can’t just start moving things,” Cabrera was saying as Webby and Kass got back to the apartment. “This is a crime scene now!”

“Yeah, but the killer was clearly looking for something,” Louie said, righting an overturned armchair. “Maybe he didn’t find it. Maybe we could find it first, and figure out what this is all about.”

“Finding hidden treasure is totally our thing!” Dewey added.

Cabrera shook her head. “Fine. But hurry up. This is a serial murder situation, now, and I’m going to have a hard time explaining to the DA why I let a bunch of teens mess around with the evidence!”

“Jeez…” Kass muttered, looking at the body on the floor and quickly looking away again. “Is it always like this?”

“It’s not always murder, but yeah,” said Webby.

“Whatever he was looking for, he really wanted to find it,” said Huey. “Look, he even pulled up the floorboards over here. Nothing down there but insulation.”

“I’m not sure it was a he,” Webby clarified. “They were fast, that’s all I know. And determined to get away no matter what.”

“And strong,” Violet said, eyeing the downed cabinet. “This is no common burglary. If they were simply looking for valuables, they would not have rifled through the flatware.

Lena was crouched next to the body.

“I’m guessing this is Jon Swanson,” she said, looking at the hole in his arm. “Killed in the same way as his boss?”

“Elmer must not have been the only target,” said Cabrera.

“What in this old place is worth killing for?” Lena wondered aloud. “And where would a pet store employee hide it?”

“Have you checked the bathroom ceiling?” said Kass.

The others looked at her. She shrugged awkwardly.

“I saw it in a TV show,” she said. “People don’t think to look there.”

The tiny bathroom of this tiny apartment was attached to the kitchen. Dewey stepped up onto the toilet seat and pushed at the ceiling panel. Sure enough, it came loose.

“Fortunately, you and Jon Swanson watch the same TV show,” said Dewey. “Huey, give me a boost.”

“It’s a messed-up show,” Kass said a bit self-consciously.

A few moments later, Dewey came down again with a rectangular box made of opaque white plastic in his arms.

He set the box down on the kitchen floor, where there was more room for everyone to gather around.

“Should we open it?” Dewey said, but only for dramatic effect – he was already peeling the lid off of the box.

The box was full of small pale brown spheres, somewhere between the size of a marble and a bouncy ball. To the eye, they were made of a semitransparent rubbery substance. Each sphere had a darker center.

“What are they?” said Kass.

“It looks like caviar,” said Louie. “But the wrong color. And way bigger.”

Webby gasped. “Not fish eggs, Louie!” she said, pointing at the lid in Dewey’s hand. “Something else laid these.”

On the inside of the lid was a word, stamped in black ink: SERQET.

“Serqet,” Huey said aloud. He looked at Webby. “You said that before. In the catalogue. What exactly is a serqet?”

“I’ve never seen one,” said Webby. “They’re an extremely rare magical creature. Legend says they have two tails, one of which they use to inject the quickest-acting venom on Earth. The other tail, well, no one’s lived to tell what it does.”

“Inject? From its tail?” Cabrera looked over her shoulder into the living room, where the man lay dead. “Like a scorpion.”

“I doubt it’s a coincidence that ‘Serqet’ is the name of the Egyptian goddess of scorpions,” Violet added grimly.

“Aw, phooey,” said Dewey. “I thought the scorpions were a red herring!”


	5. Putting It Together

“He must have been there,” Huey said. “In the store, when Elmer was killed. Jon Swanson ran home, and took the box with him, and hid it.”

The teens were gathered on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. The place was crawling with police, now, and Cabrera had run out of excuses to keep them inside. The white box of serqet eggs had been locked in a bigger, stronger box in the back of a police car.

“And Elmer locked the door behind him to keep the killer from pursuing,” said Violet. “He might have already been envenomed at this point. Or perhaps the killer attacked once he realized Elmer had locked him in.”

“I wonder what went wrong?” said Dewey. “The killer arrived to pick up his order of monster scorpion eggs…”

“And one adult serqet,” Webby added. “Which the killer used to kill Elmer last night, and Swanson this morning.”

“Maybe he was trying to cover his tracks,” said Louie. “He didn’t want anyone snitching on him for having the most venomous creature in the world as a pet.”

“Elmer and Jon wouldn’t have told anyone,” Lena said. “If someone found out they were peddling serqets, they’d be screwed, too.”

“You don’t think the serqet is still _here_ , do you?” Kass said, her eyes on the apartment building.

“Unlikely,” said Violet. “The killer would want to keep his hands on his weapon.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“So what do we do now?” said Dewey.

“Want to try asking Boggle?” Webby suggested, offering Lena her backpack.

Lena shook her head. “If it had anything to add, it would have bugged me by now. At this point, we’re on our own.”

The front door to the apartment building opened, and Cabrera came out. She walked over to the kids.

“Well then, _aventureritos_ , any new hunches?”

The teens looked at each other, but they all shook their heads. Webby had already told the police everything she remembered about the runner’s appearance, which wasn’t much.

“It’s time I sent you home, then,” said Cabrera. “You should stay inside until this is all over.”

“What? No!” said Dewey.

“We’ve already come so far,” said Webby. “We have to see it through to the end.”

Cabrera sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point to appealing to your sense of self-preservation?”

“Do they even _have_ a sense of self-preservation?” Kass said to Violet, who shook her head.

“We’re about to bring in the big guns,” Cabrera said. “Gizmoduck, Darkwing – anyone who can help us track down this criminal. So, you have one chance to tell me what _you_ can do to help that _they_ can’t.”

Louie crossed his arms.

“We can help you catch the guy,” he said. “ _Much_ better than any of those guys.”

Cabrera’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“The killer has already successfully evaded law enforcement twice,” Violet pointed out. “He is, as they say, on high alert. Bringing in an increased official police presence will only drive him to run.”

“But we’re just teens,” said Huey. “We’re less conspicuous.”

“Trust me,” said Louie, “I know how to draw out a con. We can trap the guy and end this, tonight.”

Cabrera frowned at him for a moment. Then she nodded.

“Tell me your plan,” she said.

Dewey punched the air. “Aw yeah!” he said. “It’s trap time! Let’s Dewey it!”

* * *

“Trap time is supposed to be more exciting than this,” Dewey said, kicking a rock down the street. “How did we end up on watch duty _four whole blocks away_ from the trap?”

Kass glanced over at him, her focus more on checking the air in her motorcycle tires.

“Somebody has to see if the guy comes from this direction, and block him if he makes a break for it,” she said. “And I’m the one with the bike. And you’re the one who didn’t fit any of the other jobs.”

Dewey rolled his eyes, inwardly admitting that Kass was right. The “other jobs” were as follows: 

Louie, master angle-seer, was setting up the con. A few well-placed social media posts and alleyway whispers, and all of downtown Duckburg knew that some kid had found a box of weird eggs and would sell it to the highest bidder.

The nerds – Huey and Webby, specifically – had hit the library, just in case there was anything more they could learn about serqets in the meantime.

Lena and Violet were back with Cabrera, setting up the trap – which, evidently, wasn’t something Dewey could have helped with.

“I could do magic if I wanted to,” he complained. “Webby can do it, and Lena’s always saying how she isn’t a witch and shouldn’t be able to.”

“Webby is Webby,” said Kass. “I’m not sure there’s anything she _can’t_ do.”

“Fair, fair.” Dewey sat down on the curb near the bike. “Well at least _I_ get to drive a motorcycle.”

Kass held up a finger. “You get to _ride_ a motorcycle. You do _not_ get to touch the handlebars.”

“Whatever you say, KP.”

Kass tossed her spare helmet at him – which he caught, but with an _oof_ of lost air _._ “It’s Kass, to you,” she said.

Dewey set down the helmet, wincing and rubbing his chest. “Lena calls you KP.”

“Lena has standing permission to call me whatever she wants until the end of time. If you keep pushing it, I’ll revoke your ‘Kass’ privileges and put you back on ‘Kassidy.’ _Deuellyn._ ”

“Hm.” Dewey drummed his fingers on the helmet. “You still like her, huh?”

Kass stopped moving for just a moment. She didn’t look at him – her eyes were on a building across the street – but she stopped fiddling with the motorcycle.

“What’s not to like?” she finally said.

Dewey looked up at the reddening sky. The streetlights hadn’t yet turned on for the night, but you couldn’t see the sun anymore; the buildings were in the way. His fingers were still drumming on the helmet, a little more quickly now.

“How did you know?” he said.

“Know what?”

“That you liked girls. And… that you _were,_ you know, a girl.”

Kass stopped again. But this time she was looking at him, and Dewey was the one not looking.

“Why do you ask?”

“I dunno. Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Dewey frowned, putting his hands in his pockets. “Forget it, then.”

“Alright.”

Kass went back to tinkering with her motorcycle.

Dewey lasted almost half a minute before he started talking again.

“…I just don’t know what to think, sometimes,” he said, talking to the pavement between his feet. “It’s like, I have all these questions, but I don’t even know what I want to ask!”

“About what?”

“Everything! You know what I mean. I don’t even – it’s not like I have anyone else I can ask, about this stuff.” Dewey finally looked up at Kass. “You’re the only queer person I know.”

Kass tilted her head to the side. “You know Lena and Webby.”

“Ugh, that’s different. They wouldn’t get it; it’s so easy for them! They don’t have anything they’re supposed to be like. They have each other, and they know what they want, and who they want to be, and it’s easy!”

“It’s not easy.” Kass leaned back against the motorcycle. “Trust me, they do _not_ have it easy.”

Dewey snorted. “How would you know? I live in the same house as them.”

“But I get the texts,” said Kass. “I get literally all the texts. I get Webby when she’s all worked up about trying to anticipate what Lena needs and not sure whether she can give it. I get Lena when she’s afraid she’s somehow putting too much pressure on Webby, or misreading something Webby said or did. And I get Violet, too – when they go to her for advice, but she has no idea how to answer any of what they’re asking. And it’s not like I have _that_ much more experience than them at, at attraction or relationships or any of it, I just…

“I’m just there. Doing what I can to be a good friend, and hoping I don’t put my foot in my mouth again. It’s not like I know any more about what they want than they do. I just make my guess, and say my bit, and hope I don’t get it wrong.”

Dewey picked up the helmet, hugging it in his lap.

“I think that’s what I’m worried about,” he said. “Getting it wrong.”

Kass looked at him for a moment – curled over the helmet, hardly the confident ball of energy he’d been the rest of the day.

She came over and sat on the curb next to him. “I’m listening.”

“I dunno, it’s just…” Dewey fumbled for words. “We’ve, we’re, we’re just how we’ve always been, you know? Us three guys. In the same room, in the same roles, our whole lives. But sometimes, I think…

“And I’ll start looking stuff up, you know, online?” He was gaining momentum. “Trying on labels, or pronouns, or whatever. And then it’s like, oh, well, I didn’t feel like this yesterday, maybe I won’t feel like it tomorrow, and if I make a big fuss about it now and it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll have made everyone feel awkward for nothing!

“And hey, maybe I’m just making it all up! Yeah, that sounds like me. Mugging for everyone’s attention and making a big deal out of nothing. Classic Dewey!”

Through all of this, Kass listened quietly, as he stopped stumbling, and started shouting, and finally just fell silent.

Then she leaned in close to Dewey. “Want me to tell you a secret?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Straight people don’t wonder if they’re making it all up. Cis people, too. They just are what they are _._ If you feel like you’re making it all up – whatever ‘it all’ is – that tells me you’ve stumbled on something worth exploring. Even if it’s different from day to day. _Especially_ if it’s different from day to day. Keep in mind you’re arguing with – you’re what, fifteen, sixteen? You’re arguing with a decade and a half of habit, here. It’s hard to shake off what’s normal. Even if you like the new normal better.”

“Huh,” said Dewey. “I, uh… I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Want to hear another secret?”

“Please.”

Kass put her hand over his on the helmet. “It’s okay to not know what you want,” she said. “It’s okay. I went through, like, five names and three pronouns in high school. And on campus, I keep meeting people who switched it up even more than that, or are still switching. Some people land on one thing to be, in the end, and some people don’t. And some people figure out that they liked what they were at the beginning better than anything else. It’s all cool.

“The important thing is that you have the space to figure it out. And from what I’ve seen, your family’s great for that. Queerness ain’t the queerest thing by far in that mansion.”

Dewey laughed. “You got a point there.”

“And I’m not saying you _should_ talk to your brothers about what you’re thinking, if you’re not ready yet,” said Kass. “You get to decide who you’re comfortable talking to, and when. Just… please don’t think I’m the _only_ person you can talk to, okay? Cause like, I know basically nothing about you, except that you’re the foster cousin of one of my best friends. So I’m really not gonna be much help to you here.”

“You’ve been a big help already, really.”

“I have my moments of wisdom.” Kass stood up, stretching. “Now, if you turn out to be a trans lesbian, hit me up and we’ll compare notes. Until then, I can give you the occasional Weird Check, if you need it.”

“Weird check?” said Dewey.

Kass chuckled. “Copyright Webby Vanderquack. A ‘weird check’ is when you text me and I tell you if something is queer-weird, or magic-weird, or you-weird, or just weird-weird. Spoiler alert, the answer is never just weird-weird. And if it’s magic-weird, I’m gonna have to transfer you to Lena or Violet. That shit doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Both their cell phones buzzed at once. Kass got hers out first. She took a deep breath.

“Oookay,” she said, mounting her bike. “Killer’s on the move. We’re on blocking their exit.”

Dewey pulled on his helmet, climbing up behind Kass on the motorcycle. “Let’s Dewey it.”

“Do you always say stuff like that?”

“At least five times a day.”

“Huh. You ‘Dew’ you, then.”

“… _finally._ ”


	6. Takes One To Catch One

Louie tightened his grip on the box. For all he usually – justifiably! – whined about deadly adventures, he knew how to fake a cool head in a dangerous situation. Standing a few feet away from a building where a guy was murdered, as night fell, in the light of the only streetlamp for several yards, waiting for a known killer to arrive _definitely_ counted as a dangerous situation.

“I should’ve let someone else volunteer,” he muttered.

But he was the one who was good at scheming. And the killer was expecting to see a kid, anyway. A kid stupid enough to try to sell mysterious eggs on the black market and hang out at crime scenes after dark.

Elmer’s Exotic Pets was completely empty, now. The animals had all been taken away somewhere, so the activists could argue with the city council over what was best for them. Louie thought the mongoose had made the right call, running away while it still could.

A light flashed on and off on top of the apartment building across the street. Webby, giving the signal. Remembering that she was up there keeping watch reassured him. And Detective Cabrera was somewhere nearby, too. She hadn’t said where she’d be, so Louie couldn’t look for her. The idea was to keep Louie from being able to tip the guy off that this was a trap, even accidentally.

That idea had been his own. He was somewhat regretting it, now. Cabrera had a gun. And when you were about to face down a killer, you wanted to know where the nearest gun was. Just in case.

Movement at the end of the block – a lone figure, shuffling along. It was hard to make out any details, since Louie was in the light and the newcomer was not. But there really wasn’t anyone else it could be.

The figure came closer. Their footsteps were uneven, as though they were dragging one leg along. Well, Webby _had_ seen them run straight into a dumpster.

Louie took a step back, just enough to shade his eyes a little, as the figure finally reached the range of the streetlight. He – it was a man, after all – was still wearing the gray hoodie, hood pulled up over his head. His pale face had many small cuts on it, one still bleeding a little; it was to be expected after smashing through a store window. His arms hung limply at his sides, too, and he was significantly favoring one leg over the other.

The man in the gray hoodie stared at Louie, his head swaying a little on his neck.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he said in a low, hoarse voice.

Louie forced a confident smirk. “It ain’t yours yet, mister. Not until you buy it.”

“Put down the box,” the man said.

“Money first,” said Louie. “I take cash or card.”

The man took a step forward. The stiffness of the movement somehow made it all the more threatening. Creepiest of all was how his face did not change expression at all. He just stared blankly at Louie.

“Put. Down. The box.”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” Louie took the tiniest step forward and set the box down, right at the center of the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

As he retreated out of the light’s range, the man in the grey hoodie stepped forward with his shambling gait. He bent over the box, arms swinging around to grab hold of it.

Lena pressed her hands to the edge of the curb, and the circle she’d traced on the sidewalk earlier that evening came to life. A pink ring of arcane symbols flashed on the ground, and a hazy wall made of that same pink light shot up around the man.

As Lena stood, she snapped her fingers, ending the cloaking spell which had allowed her to blend in with the black tar of the road. The snap wasn’t a necessary part of ending the spell; it just seemed like a cool thing to do. And Lena was feeling _very_ cool at the moment.

“Gotcha,” she said, smirking at the man trapped in the pink ring.

The others emerged from their hiding places – Huey and Violet from the store, Webby from the nearest fire escape, and Cabrera from the little alley between Elmer’s store and the next building. Kass rode up to them, then, too, Dewey looking over her shoulder as they parked behind the guy.

“You’re certain he can’t get out?” Cabrera said, coming around to stand with Louie in front of the man, her hand on the gun in her belt.

“Completely,” said Lena. “That’s a one-way barrier. You can walk in, but not out.”

Cabrera nodded. “You’re under arrest,” she said to the guy, “on suspicion of the murders of Elmer Emueller and Jon Swanson.”

The man had been standing very still through the appearance of the pink ring, bent over the plastic box. He moved then, pulling off the box’s lid.

It was empty.

The man shoved the box away, straightening with a jerky motion not unlike a marionette. As he did so, his momentum shook his head free of the hood, which fell back.

Kass’s hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as she stared at the back of the man’s neck. Dewey straightened suddenly, nearly falling off the motorcycle.

“What the – ?!” he exclaimed.

Everyone else tensed.

“What?” Cabrera demanded.

But whatever it was could only be seen from behind, and Kass and Dewey could only gape at it.

The man turned his leg to the side, and then his torso, as he slowly, laboriously, turned to face Dewey and Kass, allowing the rest of the gang to see the back of his head.

A very large brown scorpion sat just above the collar of his shirt, its eight legs clutching the back of the man’s head. It had two tails, one of which swayed freely in the air, a drop of dark liquid threatening to fall from its sharp stinger. The serqet’s other tail was stuck in the man’s neck, lodged in his brainstem.

They all gasped, even Cabrera. Huey covered his eyes, and Louie reached back to cover his own neck. Lena put her hands up in front of her – not that she knew what to do with them.

“It can’t come back through the barrier,” she said again, as much to assure herself as anyone else.

“What do we do now?” said Webby.

“…why have you done this to me?” the man said in that same hoarse voice.

“Is that –” Violet’s voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. “Is that the man, or the –”

“Why. Have you done. This to me?” the voice repeated. Though the man’s face was pointed at Dewey and Kass, it didn’t seem he was talking to them at all. Or that it was _him_ who was talking at all.

“I take it I am speaking with the serqet,” said Cabrera. “Like I said. You are under arrest for –”

“Silence that mundane beast and speak with me, witch!” The voice had all the intensity of a shout and none of the volume.

Lena stiffened. The serqet had many small, yellow eyes on its head. It was impossible to tell where it was looking.

It was not impossible to guess.

“Yes, I know you are there,” the serqet said through the man. “You are the one holding me here, with your power. Why do you work with these beasts?”

“You – you heard the detective,” Lena said. “You’ve killed two people. Three, probably. Assuming that poor schmuck you’re puppeteering isn’t still alive.”

The serqet’s legs wiggled against the man’s head. “That poor schmuck sought to buy me!” it said. “Me and my unborn children. We were to be a part of his collection. I can see it now, in what remains of his brain, of his memory… the cage he meant to keep us in, the audiences he would impress…”

“You fought back,” Lena said. Her eyes flickered to the nearby storefront. “That’s what went wrong. You took control of the guy. Elmer tried to stop you –”

“Those foolish beasts thought they could keep my children from me. They were wrong. You… are also wrong. But I want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why do you hold me here? Why do you… arrest me?”

They were going in circles. “Because you’re a criminal,” said Lena. “You killed people.”

The serqet laughed harshly. “Their lives do not matter. The lives of the mundane…”

“That’s enough,” said Cabrera, but the serqet kept talking.

“I see what you see, witch. What courses through you and all beings of power – what you understand, that the rest of them cannot… The power for which they call us _monster._ ”

“I’m not a monster,” Lena said. It was a rote response by this point.

“You say so today,” said the serqet. “Today you stand with them, you enforce their law… but we both know it cannot last. If you did not look like them, speak like them, act like them… They would put you in a cage, sell you and your eggs as exotic entertainment, and call you criminal when you fought back. We are the same. We are both… criminal.”

Lena’s hands were shaking.

“Don’t you listen to her, _patita._ ”

Cabrera was right next to her, now. Lena hadn’t even noticed her move.

“Criminal isn’t something you are,” the detective said. “It’s something you do. The model citizen is one who _chooses_ to be so. And you have made much better choices with your life than this _escorpión_.”

Lena took a deep breath. She nodded.

“We’re not the same,” she said. “I’m not the one committing murders.”

“…today you are murdering me.”

“I’m not,” said Lena. “You’re a sentient creature. A living thing. You can face trial for your crimes.”

“If you come quietly, the judge might be lenient with you,” Cabrera said. She put her hand on Lena’s shoulder.

“If it was my child at risk, there’s no length I wouldn’t go,” she continued. “Your family has been persecuted. I see that. That too is in your favor. But the murders stop now.”

The serqet lashed its venomous tail, a drop of that vile liquid staining the grey hoodie.

“You have murdered me, witch,” it said. “Remember that. Today, you murdered me.”

The serqet pushed away from the man’s head, its second tail coming free with a _squelch_ , leaving behind a necrotic hole. Instantly, the man’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings all cut at once. The serqet leaped away from his body, scuttling across the sidewalk to the edge of the pink ring. The stinger of its second tail glowed with an eerie yellow light.

“It can’t leave the barrier!” Lena said again.

Suddenly, something small, lithe, and furry darted out from the little alleyway next to the abandoned pet store, crossing the sidewalk quick as a flash. And while the barrier kept the serqet from coming back out, it did not stop the mongoose from running right on in, straight towards that hypnotic yellow light.

“No, wait!” Lena shouted.

But there was a _crunch_ of jaws on exoskeleton, and it was all over.

* * *

“…so,” Louie said as they sat together on the curb, watching the emergency responders put the man’s body in a bag, “who wants to tell Beakley why we’re getting home after dark?”

“Not it,” the rest of the gang chorused.

Kass shook her head. “You know, guys… I might pass on the next few mystery-solving adventures.”

“That’s exactly what I said after my first one,” Lena replied.

“Well, if you ever want a break, let me know,” said Kass. “I’ll be here all summer.”

“Thanks, KP.” Lena put her face in her hands, taking in a slow, shuddering breath and letting it out again.

Webby leaned into her side. “You okay?”

“I should have seen this coming, that’s all.” Lena looked up at the sky. It had a few stars, now. “Every time Boggle gives me a word, I end up facing some uncomfortable question about what it means to be good.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re not really letting that bug get to you, are you?”

“Technically it was an arachnid,” said Huey. Louie pushed Huey’s cap down over his eyes.

“Only to a point,” Lena admitted. “I’m not a murderer. But the serqet wasn’t completely wrong, either. I’m not like the rest of you. In some ways, I have more – okay, maybe not _more_ , but about as _much_ in common with the magical creatures Elmer smuggled than I do with other people. The serqet was self-aware. It knew it had rights, it wanted to protect its family! And at the end, it chose to end things rather than stay a prisoner. Where do we draw the line between what’s human, and what’s… not? And what side of that line do I fall on?”

“The good side,” Webby said firmly. “There, question answered.”

“If I may, Webbigail,” said Violet. “Perhaps this question is one that Lena _should_ continue to think about.”

They all stared at her.

“Okay you are the _last_ person I expected to play the ‘maybe Lena is a monster after all’ card,” said Dewey. “Not cool, Violet.”

Violet looked mortified. “That is not what I am saying at all! What I mean is that Boggle may be attempting, in its own, cryptic way, to prepare Lena for the future. As a witch, and – if you’ll pardon me for bringing her up – as the relative of Magica de Spell, questions about your goodness, and your identity, and what it means to be _you_ may pursue you for your entire life. If you’re already thinking about this now, then someday, when someone else challenges you about who you are and what ‘side’ you are on, then perhaps you will be better equipped to answer, without any of these doubts or reservations.”

They all sat quietly for a while.

“I get what you’re saying, Vi,” Lena finally said. “Doesn’t make this stuff any easier to think about, though.”

“Yes, well, I believe that’s where friends come in,” said Violet. “With hugs, and so on.”

“Like this one!” Webby said, turning her lean into a sort of sideways tackle. The boys and Violet piled on as well, all laughing, while Kass sat off to the side, smiling and shaking her head in wonder.

“Alright, _aventureritos_ , wrap it up.” Cabrera was walking towards them on the sidewalk, smiling. “Mystery’s over. Time to go home.”

“Thanks for letting us hijack your criminal investigation, Detective Cabrera,” Webby said as they all stood up.

“It’s been fun,” Cabrera said. “But let’s not do it again soon. Lena, a moment, please?”

While the other kids gathered around Kass’s motorcycle, Dewey again trying in vain to get her to let him drive it, Lena and the detective took a few steps further down the street.

“You did good today, _patita,_ ” Cabrera said. “I didn’t understand most of it, and I still don’t know that much about you. But you did good.”

“I bet you know more about me than you let on, _Detective,_ ” Lena replied. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed Fenton poking around.”

Cabrera chuckled. “That boy wouldn’t know subtle if it hit him in the helmet. But Lena, I want to be sure that you know – I meant what I said before. You’ve made good choices. You’ve grown since you were that scared little runaway in the back seat of my car.”

“Scared little runaway? Please,” Lena scoffed. Then she winced. “Sorry, habit. I meant to say ‘thanks.’”

“I’m proud of you. For what it’s worth.” Cabrera looked over at the group of teens. “And I know you’re in good hands, but if you need anything –”

“I know who to call,” said Lena. “And I will.”

Cabrera nodded. “I’m sure you will. Now – get yourself and your family home. There’s still a curfew.”

“Aw, come on, Detective – legally speaking, I’m an adult!” Lena laughed, running back towards the other teens.

Cabrera just smiled, standing alone on the darkened street. The kids would be alright.


End file.
